Joy Ride
Desiree Holt
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 by Desiree Holt
ISBN: 978-1-61333-037-1
Cover art by Fiona Jayde and DZR Images
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Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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~DEDICATION~
To Jackie Joyride, the real Marc Malone who inspired me and made me fall in love with the music all over again. You rock, Guitar Man.
Chapter One
“I can’t do this any more.”
Emma Blake pushed herself up from the couch, stared at the man focused intently on the television, and wondered why she didn’t run screaming into the night. All week she’d been restless, almost dreading their usual Saturday night. Pizza, an old movie, and obligatory sex. The lingering aroma of the oh-so-boring cheese and pepperoni still drifted in the air, but an unexpected feeling of nausea grabbed her. As if she’d finally reached her limit.
Andrew Fielder put the movie they were watching on pause and looked at her, puzzled. “Do what?”
“This.” She waved her hands to encompass the room. The television. Him sprawled into a corner of the couch. “What we’re doing.”
“You mean the movie?” He frowned and started to uncoil himself from the couch. “No problem. I’ll put in another one.”
“No, Andrew.” She wanted to stomp her foot. “I don’t just mean the movie.” She had an instant sensation of suffocating, of the room—maybe her entire life—closing in on her. A feeling that had been creeping up on her the past few days. “I mean everything. All of it. This routine. This…this…nothing. Everything.”
He stared at her as if she’d spoken in a foreign language. “Emma, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I know, I know.” She began pacing, frustration threatening to explode inside her. “That’s the problem. You. Just. Don’t. Know.”
Six days ago her college roommate, Jacie Monroe, blew into town on her way to a conference, blooming with the happiness of an exciting marriage, a wonderful child, and a more than fulfilling career. Her satisfaction with life shimmered around her. And just like that, Emma had gone from the flavorless acceptance of her own simple, uneventful life—a life she hadn’t even realized she was dissatisfied with—to a case of raging discontent.
She’d stewed about it all week, hoping it would dissipate when Saturday night rolled around. But instead it only underscored her colorless existence. One minute she’d been happy with the gray she’d always known, then she wanted the bright flashes of color that seemed to sizzle from Jacie.
He leaned forward, a perplexed look on his face and, when he spoke, his voice was pitched in the patient tone of someone speaking to a child. It occurred to her that he often took that tone with her.
“You’re making me nervous, Emma. Please just sit down and tell me what seems to be the problem. Just straight out.”
Tell him? How could she put into words what had been rattling around in her mind all week, ever since she had lunch with her college roommate and saw the glow in the woman’s face, the enthusiasm in her eyes when she talked about her husband and her job and her child? Emma was startled by the awareness that she had none of that. Nothing about her life sparkled. Although up until now, she’d been perfectly content. Or so she thought. But that day, she had the sensation of a veil lifting, showing her a world she could have if she’d just grab on to it.
Andrew would never understand. He was too satisfied with the way things were. Too comfortable. This was what he wanted. And all Emma had wanted until now.
“Okay. Okay, okay.” She stopped pacing, took a deep breath, and faced him. “Here’s the thing, Andrew. In a couple of weeks I’m going to be thirty. Thirty! And my life is about as exciting as boiled water. I’m bored out of my skull. Is that straight out enough for you?”
“Bored?” He looked stunned. “Emma, how could you possibly be bored? We have a very good life. You know that. Right?”
She laughed, hearing the edge of hysteria in the sound. “A good life. Oh, yes. Right. Of course. We work all week. Have dinner with my folks on Friday night or brunch on Sunday. On Saturday I come over here, we order in pizza, watch an old movie then go to bed and have sex.” She threw up her hands. “What more could a girl possibly want?”
“Emma, what in the hell has gotten into you?” He rubbed his jaw and blinked, as if he’d missed some important clue and didn’t know what it was.
“Something. Everything.” The sense of being suffocated or choked squeezed her again. “Tell me, Andrew. When we have sex, don’t you ever want me to be on top? Don’t you ever want to fuck me from behind?”
“What? For God’s sake, Emma.”
She wasn’t sure if he was shocked at what she suggested or the fact that she said fuck. It certainly stunned her to hear the words coming out of her mouth. Here was poor sensible, unexciting, dependable Andrew—wearing her parents’ stamp of approval along with his tailored slacks and collared polo shirt—looking as if someone had pulled the rug out from under him, and he’d landed on his ass.
It was just more than she wanted to deal with. It was like drinking flat champagne while everyone else got the bubbles. And she realized with unexpected clarity just how unsatisfied she’d been with the absence of bubbles all her life.
“I can’t do this now. If you don’t understand, nothing I say will make a difference.”
She grabbed her purse from the table next to the couch and headed for the front door. If she didn’t get out of this house right away, she was afraid she might choke to death. How could she explain to Andrew what the problem was when she wasn’t quite sure herself? How could she tell him that sitting on that couch, watching a movie she hated, she suddenly saw a vision of herself fifty years in the future doing exactly the same things in exactly the same way, and life would have passed her by? She had to get away.
Andrew followed her onto the little porch, his fingers closing on her arm before she could make an escape. “Wait a minute. Emma, hold on. Come back here. Let’s talk. Please.”
Talk? About what? There was no way he’d ever understand the sudden need for excitement that was raging inside her. She saw clearly that it wasn’t in his makeup.
“No, I can’t.” She moved away. “I have to get out of here. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’ll call you.”
She hurried down the steps before he could try to stop her again, pressed the button on the fob to unlock her car, and jumped into the driver’s seat. Andrew was still standing on the porch beneath the overhead light, staring. Bewilderment in every line of his body.
“Emma?”
She slammed the car door, cranked the engine, and quickly backed out of the driveway. She had no idea where she was going except away from here.
Poor Andrew. This wasn’t even his fault. It was hers. She had no one to blame but herself for wearing blinders all these years. The good girl who never colored outside the lines. If her roommate hadn’t been passing through town, if they hadn’t met for lunch, she might have still been content and never hungered for something else. She drove through the quiet residential streets, wondering how she’d let this happen. How she’d managed to be satisfied with a life so defined. So confining. Constricting. So much that she felt suffocated.
She stopped at a red light at a busy intersection and tapped her thumb impatiently on the wheel until the light changed.
All these years she’d seen nothing wrong with the pattern of living her parents had established for her. They were truly wonderful people, but she saw now that they led a life you could set clocks and calendars by. She’d accepted the same for herself. Dating boys then men they considered appropriate and acceptable. She was comfortable with a conservative style of dress—plain, unadorned jeans, an undistinguished tailored blouse. In a pale blue.
The way good girls dress.
Her only rebellion had been one time in high school, when she and three of her “proper” friends had taken Sandy Piper’s father’s car for a joy ride. The thrill of the forbidden had lingered in the back of her mind all this time, buried but apparently still bubbling. Waiting for something to let it loose.
Turning right at the end of the street, she blended into the traffic on the four-lane thoroughfare lined with stores and other businesses. She passed a restaurant with sidewalk tables under outdoor lights, happy couples laughing and chatting. She’d never done that. Not with Andrew or any of her other dates. They all hated eating outside. Too many bugs. Too much exposure.
She drove aimlessly up one street and down the other, thoughts chasing each other around in her brain. Her birthday was closing in, and she was frightened that a life she’d never thought about or even known existed was passing her by.
She lost track of time and direction as she drifted toward no particular destination, so it was with some shock that she found herself on a street at the opposite end of town in front of a cement block building. The sign over the doorway read “Aftershock”, and even with the car windows rolled up, she could hear the heavy sounds of a rock band bleeding out into the night.
I’ve never been to a rock club.
Because the men she dated didn’t hang out in places like that. Or even listen to that kind of music.
But now, without thinking about it, she pulled into the crowded parking lot, climbed out of her car, and headed for the entrance as if on autopilot. The sign next to the door read “Now Appearing - Lightning.” An appropriate name for a band playing in a club named Aftershock. The moment she opened the club’s door, she was assaulted by the sheer volume of sound, the noises of the crowd mixed with the blast of the music.
Someone was shouting in her ear. “Ten bucks.”
She stared at the large muscular man blocking her way, intimidating in black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt, his hand outstretched.
She frowned. “What?”
He leaned closer to her ear. “Ten bucks. Cover. No money, you don’t get in.”
Emma fumbled in her tiny purse and found a ten-dollar bill. When she passed it to the man, he grabbed her arm and pressed a rubber stamp to her wrist—a stamp in the shape of a lightning bolt. She gawked at it, fascinated. She’d never been to a place where they stamped hands.
She looked up at the man. “What’s this for?”
“So you can get in and out,” he explained. “You never had a cover stamp before?”
Not that I’ll admit to anyone.
“Oh. Of course. Thanks.”
The place was so dark, she had trouble adjusting her eyes. Blackness shredded by the molecules of light illuminated the stage from the booth located high on one wall. Red and yellow mingled diffusely with the darkness, creating a surreal atmosphere for the four bodies totally immersed in the music they were creating. The room was packed with people screaming their approval at the band, bodies so jammed together caught up in the heavy beat filling the room that Emma had trouble inching her way in. Feverish energy crackled in the air, sizzling all around her. So palpable she felt it scorching her skin, and she realized just how appropriate the band’s name was.
Emma stared at the crowd, at the bodies moving suggestively, almost as if they were having sex to music. She’d never seen anything like it and it shocked her to the core. Then a strange heat surged through her own body, and she had trouble catching her breath. Not the suffocating feeling from earlier but something new, something that stimulated every one of her senses. For a moment, she wondered if she had wandered into an alternate universe, one where the outside world ceased to exist.
A drink, that’s what I need. Something to calm her jittery nerves. Wriggling her way to the bar, she ordered a beer. Although she seldom drank, it seemed the easiest thing to order in all the chaos. Anyway, tonight was a night for new experiences, and she didn’t think many of the people in here were drinking diet sodas.
Hardly anyone was seated. Instead, they were all moving their hips, raising their arms as they kept time to the thundering beat of the sound, and focusing on the band cranking out another high-energy song. The melody poured out into the darkened room, each member adding his own chemistry to the mix. Unsure what to do, Emma stood uncomfortably by the bar, holding her drink and listening to the seductive blend of instruments.
She was peripherally aware of the lead guitar’s wail, the husky voice of the lead singer, and the heavy syncopation of the drums. But what captured her attention, sent her pulse pounding, was the heavy thump, thump, thump of the bass vibrating up through her body.
Well, she’d wanted something different. Something a little wild. She’d definitely found it here.
She needed to be closer to the stage, to see who was sending out that beat that echoed from her throbbing core to her breasts, but people were jammed together, filling every inch of space and blocking her view. At five-foot-two and in flat-heeled shoes, there was no way she could see over anyone’s shoulders.
Clutching the cold beer bottle in her hand, she wedged her way between gyrating bodies, hypnotized by the music, until she reached the front of the crowd…and stopped at the edge of the stage, mesmerized. The bass guitarist stood with one foot balanced on the monitor in front of him, his body leaning into the sound. His head was thrown back, dark hair flying around his face as he pounded out the rhythm of the song they were playing. He was wild, uninhibited, totally immersed in his music. He moved with an incredible grace to the accented beat, hips thrusting as his clever fingers plucked the strings and slid on the neck of the guitar.
For one incredible moment, Emma had the feeling he was playing only for her and she realized she really had been struck by “Lightnin’.” Permanently electrified by it.
A surge of heat raced through her, and it wasn’t the kind that emanated from the tightly packed sweaty bodies. Instead, an electric excitement gripped her, sending a charge of unfamiliar sexual thrill to every nerve. Her breasts tingled and between her thighs, she felt a throbbing as deep as the sound of the bass. At first she stood stiffly, clutching her drink. People jostled and shoved her as they kept time to the beat. She took two quick swallows of the beer, grimacing at the bitter taste. But as the alcohol eased her tension, she found herself catching the rhythm of the music and trying to mimic the movements of the bass player—totally caught up in the seductive lure of the song. For one crazy moment, she was gripped by an uncontrollable urge to jump up on the stage, and bump and grind with him. Her! Emma, the good girl!
Clumsily juggling the beer bottle, she slipped the thin strap of her purse over her head so it lay crosswise between her breasts. Her focus still on the bass player, she swayed to the beat, hips moving, rocking. When the song ended, the bass guitarist threw back his head on a final note and then looked out into the crowd, peering beyond the glare of the stage lights.
His eyes seemed to find hers as if pulled by a magnet, and a fist slammed through her.
Ohmigod!
She couldn’t have torn her gaze away from his if someone had paid her. The look on his face was so intense; it was as if a hand had reached out and touched her. Her heart rate sped up, stuttering erratically. In the next moment, the lead guitar laid down the opening bars of the next song, the bass player came in on cue, then the drummer, before the singer belted out the first lines. Again the bass pulsated through her, sending sensual shock waves into every part of her body. There was a raw, untamed feeling to the sound that made inhibitions disappear and excitement rage like an uncontrolled storm. The bass player finally dragged his eyes away from her, but she couldn’t stop staring at him. The way he threw his head back and his hair flew wildly like a thick curtain around his face. His body moved sensually, making love to the music, so caught up in its rhythm that he and his instrument were one.
Emma finished her beer and stuck the empty bottle on the little shelf around one of the support pillars. Barely aware of what she was doing, she undid the clip holding her hair and shook her head, letting the waves cascade past her shoulders. Her hands yanked her blouse out of the waistband of her jeans and she knotted the tails just beneath her breasts, leaving her midriff bare—something she never did in public.
But tonight all bets were off. Tonight, Emma Blake was throwing off the restricting mantle of her life and finding out what was on the other side.
The band finished the song, launched immediately into another one, and Emma continued to gyrate with the crowd, hips thrusting, feet moving, throwing back her head the way her bass player did.
Her bass player?
But that was how she viewed him—this man on stage who was sex personified. She would have imagined doing all kinds of wicked things with him, if she’d know enough wicked things to do. She danced in place, arms waving, tossing her head, and wiggling her hips in a suggestive fashion. The Emma she knew disappeared, left behind in the erotic atmosphere of the dark club and the pulse-pounding music.
By the time the last song of the last set ended, she was both exhausted and exhilarated, her body vibrating with arousal. Her gaze had locked with the bass player’s each time he’d stared out into the audience. Now, as the band broke down the stage and put away their instruments, she saw him snap his guitar case shut and unexpectedly turn to face her. The coil of lust unwinding in her belly was so intense it shocked her.
She should follow the rest of the crowd out of the club, but she wanted to watch him until the last possible moment and store every image into her mind. At last reluctantly realizing she was the only person left, she walked slowly out into the parking lot. She could still hear the music in her head, still feel that thump thump thump that throbbed in all her erogenous zones. Still see the come-fuck-me look in the bass player’s eyes.
Emma dragged her feet as she headed toward her car, not wanting the magic of the night to end, and nearly screamed when a hand touched her shoulder.
“It’s me.” The voice was low, almost a soft growl.
She turned and there he was, scant inches away from her, his masculinity almost overpowering her, the sound of his voice still echoing through her, mesmerizing her. The light in the parking lot cast a halo around him; the glow reflected in the dark irises of his eyes.
“Oh!” was all she could think to say.
“I saw you watching me.” The words were like a caress sliding over her skin.
“I-I like your music.”
His smile was almost feral. “Maybe you’ll like this, too.”
His hands slid up to cup her face and when his mouth touched hers, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to respond. He licked the closed seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue, a feathery touch that sent shivers skating along her spine. Her legs wobbled and she wrapped her fingers around his wrists to hang on, feeling the hard muscle and sinew beneath her fingertips.
He kissed her slowly, a languid movement as if he’d devoted himself to nothing else but seducing her mouth. And the rest of her along with it. His tongue moved back and forth in soft, gentle strokes, finally pressing a little harder until she opened for him. When he thrust inside, the effect was like an electric shock through her system. Her mind blanked, her only focus on the reactions stirring inside her body. He licked and plunged and savored, all the while holding her face in the warmth of his palms. The beating pulse in her womb ratcheted up, and her breasts felt full and swollen.
She had a sudden sensation the world was spinning in slow motion before it stopped dead on its axis. Fire raged instantly to life between them.
When he lifted his head, she was dizzy with sensation. Those dark coffee eyes locked with hers, sending her silent, erotic messages.
He touched his lips to her ear. “Come home with me.”
A shiver of delicious anticipation shimmied over her skin and without a moment of hesitation, she said, “Okay.”
Chapter Two
Marc Malone couldn’t believe his luck. This kind of thing never happened to him before. Despite the perception people had of musicians, women weren’t exactly dropping into his lap. At least not like this one. Not that he was celibate or anything, just a lot pickier than others. And this one was something special. He knew it from the moment he spotted her. There was a freshness to her, a unique appeal that he didn’t see in most of the women who came to Aftershock.
Which was why he passed on most of them.
When this one caught his eye, she had the look of a fish out of water, stiff and self-conscious, not quite sure what to do with herself. Brand new to the club, or he definitely would have noticed her before. He could tell the moment the music captured her, visibly loosening a constricting coil wound inside her. First her feet began to move, tentatively, as if she was unsure what to do. Then the hips bumped a little from side to side. When she shook her hair free and knotted her blouse beneath the breasts, he couldn’t stop staring. He had to shift to stand with his foot on the monitor again until his sudden hard-on cooled down.
He kept expecting her to leave after each song ended, but she stayed hemmed in by the crowd, hips gyrating, head thrown back. Those sizzling moments when their gazes locked, he had the feeling she was looking directly into his soul. His entire body went on full alert, and his heart turned over. He felt like a sugar junkie lusting after candy. The need to see her and talk to her grabbed him like a giant fist. He had to find out who she was. How she’d happened to show up at Aftershock when he’d never seen her there before.
Following her into the parking lot had been a real risk. She could have slapped his face or worse yet, called the cops. The invitation to come home with him had been issued impulsively, just like the kiss. He could hardly believe she’d accepted both, her response shocking him. Bad girls were only too willing to acquire what he thought of as a badge of honor fuck. Good girls usually ran as if they’d been courted by the devil. But it seemed the magic had reached out to this woman as it had to him.
He kept glancing in his rear view mirror to make sure she was still behind him. Yeah, those were her headlights.
For the first time in a long time, he was nervous. He tried to remember if his place—the little house he’d bought last year—was clean. Were there dirty clothes lying around? Dirty dishes? Did he have fresh sheets on the bed? Should he offer her wine first? Did he even have any?
And then he was turning the corner onto his street.
Okay, buddy boy. Here we go. Don’t fuck this up.
***
I’m doing it! I’m really doing it! Going home with this man who rocked my world.
God! I can’t believe this!
It wasn’t the beer. It wasn’t even the spurt of rebellion, or the choking frustration of her existence that had her following the black Jeep Cherokee through the quiet streets of the city. She could have gone into that club, listened to the music, tasted a new and different slice of life and gone home, hugging it to her like a treasured secret. No, it was the bass player. He’d looked out at her with his stormy eyes and an invisible but powerful connection had been forged.
This was the most daring thing she’d ever done.
All kinds of possibilities ran through her mind. She wasn’t dumb. Only an idiot would be completely unaware of what he had in mind. He was a musician, right? Her knowledge of his world was limited but she read all the gossip magazines. She was torn between a desire to step off a ledge into the unknown and fear that the fall would be more than she could handle. If she was smart she’d get away. Run back to her safe little world.
Yet she couldn’t make herself do it. The electricity that zapped between them the moment their eyes connected was bad enough. But the instant collision of senses when they’d kissed in the parking lot had invaded every nerve and muscle. No way could she have just gotten in her car and driven home. Not when temptation beckoned so strongly.
Wait. Are you crazy? What if he’s some kind of mad rapist? Or had a load of drugs stashed in his house? Or…Or what? He calls to you like no other man you’ve ever been with. You secretly wanted this the moment you felt that connection. And remember. You can always leave. Any time.
She was startled to realize they were driving in her neighborhood. But the street he turned into wasn’t a familiar one. Small bungalows lined both sides of a roadway guarded by ancient oaks. He pulled into a wide driveway, leaving room for her to park next to him. She climbed out of the car on legs not quite steady. This was the first time she’d ever followed a man home in her life, one she barely knew. Was she really about to step into the unknown with him? The thought both excited and terrified her. The same thrill she’d felt taking Mr. Piper’s car for a joy ride all those years ago surfaced now and sparked through her body.
Suddenly seized by an attack of nerves, she looked down to see her hands shaking as she turned off the ignition and dropped her keys into her purse. This was so far outside her comfort zone. What if he wanted more than she could give? What if she said yes to him and wasn’t any good at it? Her experience, especially for someone her age, was embarrassingly limited. Good, safe Andrew was only the third man she’d slept with, and she was pretty sure none of that had prepared her for whatever would happen tonight.
Oh, Andrew. He’d been the furthest thing from her mind. After tonight there was no going back, even if he wanted her. He was part of the Emma who had run from his house. Now she was filled with the desire to test her wings and her exhilaration was mixed with fear and guilt. For a very brief moment, she was tempted to turn the engine back on, back out into the street, and drive away like a bat out of hell.
What am I doing here?
Emma Blake didn’t go to rock clubs. Didn’t kiss strange men, especially rock musicians. Didn’t go home with them almost the moment after they met. Emma was the quintessential good girl who never did anything the least bit daring.
She quaked at the thought of what might happen if she went inside but she was sick and tired of her life that suddenly looked dull gray. Even though her anticipation was mixed with fear and guilt, she wanted to be a little wild and crazy. Push the envelope. Take a chance on what came next tonight. Whatever that was.
If I get hit by a car tomorrow, I’ll never know what might have been.
She paused to take in a steadying breath and let it out.
Okay, Emma. You wanted some excitement. Here it is, so don’t screw it up. Take a chance.
He waited for her to walk around the car and catch up to him, looking dark and mysterious in the ambient light from a street lamp. Emma put her hand into the one he was holding out to her, and he led her up the steps to the front door. Tiny sparks of electricity danced through her, heat suffusing her.
“I don’t even know your name,” he said as he fished one-handed for his house key.
“I don’t know yours, either,” she told him.
“It’s Marc. Marc Malone.” He opened the door and gestured for her to step inside. “What’s yours?”
“It’s…um….” Her voice faded off. Tell him her name? Good girls didn’t give their names to sexy men they went home with from a bar. Besides, anonymity was her cloak in this wild exhilarating joy ride, and she wrapped it tightly around herself.
He stood there, an expectant look on his face.
Tell him something, dummy.
She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
“Not a hard question,” he prompted. “You gotta have a name. Everyone does.” When she still didn’t answer him, he said, “Okay, I’ll call you Music Lady, because you danced to the music. ML for short. How’s that?”
She giggled nervously, her purse sliding from her hand. “Okay. Maybe I’ll call you Guitar Man.”
“Call me whatever you want.” His voice was low, seductive.
Kiss me again. Please. Then I don’t have to worry about things like names.
As if he’d heard the silent message, he turned her toward him, cradled her head in his warm palms, and lightly pressed his mouth to hers. His lips were as warm and sensuous as she remembered, and the feel of them sent sparks flying through her. The male scent of him surrounded her, invading her like an addictive drug. Her nipples stiffened again and between her thighs, she felt a low throb deep inside her body. She clung to his wrists again, anchoring herself.
His fingers gripped her skull and he slanted his lips this way and that, finding a better angle before thrusting his tongue deeper inside her mouth. His touch was firm. Possessive.
Ohmigod!
Kissing had never, ever been like this, so arousing that every nerve screamed for his touch. He was tall enough that she had to reach up to him but not so tall he towered over her. Lean but not skinny. Muscular. And their bodies fit together as if made for each other. For the first time in her life, she wanted a man inside her more than she wanted her next breath.
I want him to fuck me.
Lordy, where had that come from? Andrew would have been shocked into a state of performance anxiety if she used it with him. She swallowed a laugh, seized by a hysterical desire to show up naked at Andrew’s front door and scream “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” at him.
But in the next moment, all she could think about was the scorching flame of Guitar Man’s tongue searing her every place it touched, seducing her, coaxing her. Wiping away the attack of nerves that had invaded her. He moved his hands slowly down her neck and shoulders to her breasts. She moaned into his mouth as his palms cupped her, and his thumbs rubbed her nipples through the fabric of her shirt and her bra. More cream flooded her core and the throbbing in its walls intensified. Every pulse point pounded as wildness surged through her.
And still his tongue danced with hers, coaxing more and more of a response. She thrust boldly into his mouth, loving the purely male essence of him, wanting to drink him in so she could hold the taste forever.
The shock of it slammed into her. This was what she’d been looking for her entire life without even knowing it. This! This feeling. This man. And even while it terrified her, she welcomed it.
When he lifted his head, they were both gasping for air. Marc stared hard into her eyes as if searching for an answer to a silent question, then backwalked her into the house. He reached out a hand and in a moment, soft light from a small lamp illuminated the space.
Now she could see the strong line of his jaw, the clear dark blue of his eyes framed with thick eyelashes, the strong nose and the high cheekbones. There was something so totally masculine about him. She felt it sizzling straight to her sex.
She stared at him, flashing hot and cold.
“Yeah, that’s right, keeping looking at me. Don’t look around,” he whispered and laughed, a low, rusty sound. “I’m not sure what the place looks like. Bachelor pad, you know.”
“I don’t care.” She sighed. “You’re the only thing I want to see.”
When had she ever been so bold? Colored outside the lines? But with this man she was someone else, someone ready to fly into hyperspace.
“And I want to see you. Every bit of you. You are just so damn beautiful.”
Beautiful? Had anyone, even Andrew ever told her that? And in a way that made her think it might be true?
She stared at Marc’s face, trying to read his expression. His smile was warm and genuine, lighting him from within. It was soothing and at the same time stimulating. And he smelled completely delicious. Time seemed to slow down as his gaze took in every inch of her. Finally, he threaded his fingers through her hair and tilted her head back slightly.
“I could get lost in these hazel eyes. I bet they change with whatever you’re feeling. And I want to see them change.” He kissed each eyelid. “A perfect nose.” Another kiss on the tip, and his lips trailed down her cheek to her chin and then the column of her neck. His tongue slid along her jawline then down the column of her neck, and shivers skimmed the length of her spine. “So soft,” he murmured. “Like satin.”
He pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat, and she was sure he could feel her pulse pounding erratically. She clutched at him, her knees weak and the crotch of her panties already soaked.
He raised his head to look into her eyes and, even in the semi-darkness, she could see a wealth of emotion there. When he took her hand and led her down a short hallway into an unlit room, she wanted to tell him, Hurry, hurry. A flick of a wall switch and light bloomed from a small bedside lamp. Emma saw what seemed to be like acres of dark blue on a king-sized bed, covered with a dark blue comforter. An image of the two of them naked rolling around on it made heat creep to her cheeks and an unfamiliar hunger gripped her.
Marc lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “You’re shaking.” He studied her expression. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can stop right now.”
She trembled with need, not fear. Her gaze skimmed his face, dark hair falling around it like a silk cloak, stubble shadowing his strong jaw, stormy blue eyes flashing with fire. Not do this? Was he crazy?
“Don’t stop,” she told him in a soft voice. “I want this.”
“Me, too.” His voice was a low, sexy growl.
She wet her lips. “I-I never do this. I want you to know that.”
He grinned at her. “Have sex?” he teased.
Her face heated. “Go home with someone I’ve just met.”
She expected arrogance, male pride, self-satisfaction but what she got was a look of such tenderness, it made her heart clench.
“I figured that out already, babe. It’s okay. We’ll just take things easy.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t want that. I want you. Everything. All of it.”
All the things I’ve heard whispered about but never experienced. I want what put that look in Jacie’s eyes.
He brushed his mouth over hers. “Then that’s what you’ll get.”
He untied the tails of her blouse and popped each button slowly, pushing the fabric down her arms until the garment fell to the floor. In the next instant the bra followed it. The heat of his gaze raked over her breasts. He took her nipples between thumb and forefinger of each hand and squeezed gently.
“Jesus, you have the most gorgeous breasts.” He sounded almost reverent. “Your nipples are so rosy, so firm.”
Bending his head, he took one firm bud into his mouth and sucked deeply, flicking his tongue over the pebbled surface. His lips and tongue were so soft, she melted beneath them. The sensation was almost unbearable, and she moaned in response.
His warm palms cupped her breasts. His palms holding the weight of them as he worshipped first one nipple then the other. The slightly rough surface of his tongue sent jolts of heat through her. Emma stood there feeling truly desirable for the first time in her life. This was no obligatory action. This man actually wanted her. Her! And she wanted him just as badly.
She lifted her hands and stroked along his jawline, loving the rough texture of his late night growth of beard. She moved her fingers upward to the thick shock of hair that was so soft and smooth as she touched it, still wild from his movements on stage. Her breathing hitched as he pulled harder first on one nipple then the other before tracing a line down the valley between her breasts with his tongue.
Marc moved down her rib cage to the waistband of her jeans, and she heard the pop as the snap opened and the hiss of the zipper being lowered. He pushed her jeans and panties down past her hips before urging her down to the bed, lowering her to the edge of the mattress. His gaze never left hers as he tugged the garments off the rest of the way. Then he put his lean fingers on her thighs and spread them wide.
At first, Emma felt self-consciously exposed, his eyes drinking in the sight of her pubic curls and the pink flesh of her sex. The men she’d been with before this always did everything in the dark. Now she wondered if Marc liked what he saw. If she was as sexy as the other women he’d been with.
As if he knew what she was thinking, he murmured, “Beautiful.”
When he knelt on the floor in front of her and she realized what he was about to do, she tried to push him away.
“You—you don’t have to do that,” she stammered.
He looked up at her. “I don’t have to do anything. I want to. Hasn’t any man ever wanted to eat this sweet pussy before?”
The word shocked her. It wasn’t one she used in conversations with girlfriends. Not even with Annie, her best friend. And certainly none of the pitifully few men she’d been with used blunt sexual language. Sometimes Andrew seemed almost embarrassed to acknowledge they were having sex.
While she was still trying to form an answer to his question, he bent his head and traced a line down the length of her slit with his tongue.
The blast of heat that surged through her was shocking. Every nerve fired and her…pussy…clenched! Just that one caress nearly did her in.
He made a humming noise of satisfaction. “And delicious, too,” he murmured against her flesh.
His words made her shiver, made her pulse ratchet up and erotic hunger clutch at her. Without thinking she widened her legs even more, and he groaned in pleasure against her flesh. Another lick. Another stroke with his tongue. Then a flick against the throbbing bud of her clit, and another jolt of sensation speared her so powerful it gripped her like an iron fist.
He nudged her back on the bed until she was lying flat and draped her legs over his shoulders. Dropping to his knees, he opened the lips of her sex with those lean talented fingers, stroking her as if he was playing his guitar, and thrust his tongue deep inside her.
“Ohhhhh.” A moan slipped past her lips.
Then he did it again. And again. Moving his fingers so he could rub and tease her clit as he fucked her with his tongue, coaxing her to a higher plane of arousal.
Emma lay there wrapped in a cloud of pleasure that drifted over every inch of her skin, giving herself over to responses that were new and startling. She wanted this to go on forever—that glide and plunge of his tongue, the flick and rub of his fingers. But the coil of need wound so tightly inside her began to unfurl itself and spiral up through her body.
She tensed for a moment when Marc used his fingers to scoop some of the cream from her soaking vagina. Aware that she was wetter than she ever remembered, she jumped when he slid lower and lower until he reached the tight ring of the anal sphincter. No one had ever touched her there before. But then her lips parted, her breathing hitched, and she lifted to him.
His fingers, calloused from playing the bass, rasped against her tender skin and slid to her pussy again, sending frissons of excitement skittering along every nerve. He worked three of them into her as his mouth sucked hard on her clit. The orgasm hit without warning.
“Oh, oh, oh.” The sounds of pleasure rippled from her mouth. Body shaking, her own whimpers and cries echoed in her ears.
She jerked her hips, arching toward him as she shook with spasm after spasm. Deep inside, every muscle clenched in response. Marc’s tongue continued stroking and lapping until the tremors subsided, and she became a limp mass. He licked the last drop of juice from her pussy, humming his appreciation.
He rose to his feet and leaned over her, the liquid of her arousal gleaming on his face. When they kissed she tasted herself on his lips, a taste that was shockingly pleasurable.
“You are incredible,” he murmured. “A goddess. I want to worship your body forever.”
She smiled at him, spent, but unbelievably feeling a response growing again at his words. And wondering how it was even possible.
But now she was hungry to see every lean, muscular inch of him.
“I want you naked,” she told him, the words spilling from her mouth with a new boldness.
Marc grinned but when he spoke, his voiced was ragged and uneven. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He rose and pulled his T-shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor on top of her clothes. His jeans and boxers followed, and then he stood before her in his wonderful lean nakedness, dark hair curling on his chest and arrowing down to his groin where his magnificent cock rose proudly from its thick nest of curls. A beautiful tattoo sleeve covered one arm, unlike anything Emma had ever seen before. The only ones she was familiar with some actor had sported on television. But the beauty of the colors of this one, the scrollwork and unique characters and the delicate tracery of the design fascinated her. The hues were vivid, the lines scrolls and sweeps, each blending into the next, some more powerful than the others. Like his music, she thought. She could spend hours just studying it, artwork worthy of display in a museum.
Tentatively she reached out a finger and ran it over the intricate design. The feel of it somehow excited her.
He was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. Not just his body, but the strong set of his jaw, the straight nose, the dark eyes fringed with thick lashes. The same electric shock of excitement that had grabbed her when she first saw him in the bar seized her now.
And she’d never felt so totally and completely connected to another person.
Marc saw the heat flare in her eyes as she took in every inch of his nudity and if it was possible, his cock hardened even more. Jesus, he wanted this woman. Wanted to bury himself deep inside her and stay there forever. He could hardly believe she was actually here. With him. In his house. Naked in his room. He was afraid if he pinched himself she’d disappear. He’d been with a fair amount of women—all kinds—but it didn’t take a genius to know this one was special. The real deal.
This was no groupie going from musician to musician, or some barfly stimulated by alcohol. No, she’d radiated such nervousness at first he was afraid she’d bolt and run. Music Lady was pure, clean woman, sensual and shy at the same time. A combination that made him so hot he had to grit his teeth to find the edge of control.
All his adult life, he’d looked for a woman like this. A woman who, despite the fact that she’d come home with him after one scorching kiss, definitely did not seem the type to fall into anyone’s bed. A woman whose mannerisms, lack of experience, whose every action and reaction with him set her apart from the other women he’d been with.
His dream, only now forming, was to find someone who could become a real part of his life. One he could share things with. A very special woman who understood the demands of the music business and the soul of an artist. Someone who could adapt to him working nights, rehearsing days, needing quiet time to write his music. Someone who could live with the volatile environment of his career.
Just that quickly, he knew he wanted it with Music Lady.
The question was, did she desire it with him? And would she really turn out to be what he thought or was it just wishful thinking?
He had a hunger to learn everything about her. What she liked to eat. What movies appealed to her. What her favorite color was. Anything and everything that could unlock the secret of his Music Lady—why she’d come to Aftershock tonight, and more importantly, why she’d agreed to come home with him. But first he had to fuck her every way possible so he could completely imprint himself on her body inside and out.
Aroused to the point of desperation, he lifted ML in his arms, yanked back the covers on the bed, and placed her carefully on the sheets. His eyes roamed over every inch of the perfect oval of a face and hazel eyes fringed with heavy lashes. Her body was flushed a soft shade of pink, cream still glistening on the soft blonde curls covering her mound. He ran the tip of one finger through them, stroking the silken folds, and was rewarded with the sight of a delicious shiver racing over delicate skin. His breath caught at the wonder of this woman.
She lifted her arms to him and he knelt between creamy thighs, trailing soft kisses over her breasts, stomach, hips. Pressing his face to her tummy, he inhaled deeply, loving the scent that drifted up his nostrils, a heady mixture of light floral and feminine musk. His balls tightened and his swollen cock flexed.
He ran his palms down the length of silken skin from hip to ankle and back again, memorizing the dips and swells of her body. Bending her legs at the knees, he pressed his palms against soft inner flesh, spreading them wide and giving him a view that nearly made him come right then. He stared, looking his fill of the glistening pink pussy flesh darkened from the rush of the recent orgasm, the bud of the swollen clit peeking out at him from its protective hood, the graceful curve of ass where it met thighs….
Jesus!
Marc swallowed, a difficult feat since his mouth was almost totally dry, and allowed himself the pleasure of covering her from neck to mound with a trail of kisses. Now he understood the meaning of that phrase, “I could eat you up with a spoon.” Her skin made satin seem rough, and the scent of it filled his system more intoxicatingly that any whiskey he’d ever had. He lost himself in the dizzying taste of her, the seductive feel of her. This woman was the treat he’d been looking for all his life, and he wanted to make a permanent feast of her.
The little cries of pleasure she made as his mouth traveled over her only turned him on even more until he knew he couldn’t wait another moment to be inside of her. Reaching into the nightstand drawer, he pulled out a condom, tore away the foil wrapper, and sheathed himself. Wrapping his fingers around his cock, he touched it to her opening, rubbing it against her cream to lubricate it.
“Get ready, darlin’.” His voice was thick with raw hunger.
He pressed into her slowly, gaze locked with hers, reading there an answering need. The tight walls of her cunt stretched around him as he filled her, gripping him like a hot, wet fist. For sure.
Holy sweet Jesus!
He’d died and gone to heaven. When he was fully inside her, the rush of pleasure was so perfect he wanted to weep. He looked into her beautiful eyes, the connection between them so profound it scored his very soul. He could stay buried in this woman for the rest of his life.
This is what I always wanted. Not that I have that many notches on my bed post, thank the Lord. Pure sweetness.
Better make it damn good for her, buddy boy.
Marc closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, fighting for the control that was rapidly slipping away from him. Then he began to move, slowly at first, then faster as her body answered his, until they were moving in a rhythm that had its own music. In. Out. In. Out. Faster now. Her legs wrapped around him and pulled him deeper into her wet heat. He felt the trembling inside her surging and intensifying, his eyes watching hers for the signal she was up on that erotic cliff with him.
Yes! There! Panting, she parted her lips slightly, her legs tightening around him, her hips arching up to him. He pumped into her, driving her to the edge with him. More, harder, faster.
“Come on, babe,” he rasped. “You’re gonna take me with you. Just let it go.”
And she did, shattering beneath him.
The tumble into space shocked him with its intensity. He wasn’t aware of anything except a back velvet void, the grip of her pussy around him, and an orgasm that shook every muscle in his body. He couldn’t breathe, and his heart raced madly as he poured himself into the latex reservoir. For the first time since he’d started having sex, he hated the thin barrier that kept him from feeling her skin to skin.
At last, spent, he fell forward, catching his weight on his forearms, dragging air into his lungs. His heart was pounding ferociously, or maybe it was hers. He kissed her—a soft kiss no longer ravenous with hunger—loving the velvet surface of her lips and the electric glide of her tongue against his.
He barely had strength to ease himself from her body and dispose of the condom. Then he was beside her, turning off the lamp, tugging the covers over them, and wrapping his arms around her. He brushed her hair back from her cheek and kissed the soft skin as she snuggled back against him. The curve of her buttocks fitted nicely against his groin.
“Sleep,” he murmured, and closed his eyes.
***
Emma didn’t remember falling asleep, and when she opened her eyes at first she couldn’t figure out where she was. A warm male body was curled around her, a muscular arm thrown across her hip.
Andrew.
But not sleeping on his stomach, his skin her barely touching as usual.
She shifted slightly and realized she was sore in places she didn’t even know she could feel.
What time is it?
She lifted her wrist with the watch on it, but the room was dark so it was impossible to see. Turning her head slightly, her eye caught a bedside clock. Red numerals told her it was just after five.
Wait! Andrew doesn’t have a clock like that.
Tentatively she touched the arm wrapped around her, trying to ease out from beneath. And her heart nearly stopped. This was not Andrew’s arm. She was familiar enough with it that she could tell the difference in how it felt.
Turning on the bedside lamp, she looked at the man lying beside her. A man with a tattooed arm. And for a moment she wanted to scream. Where was she and who was this person?
But then it all came back to her with startling clarity.
Andrew!
The argument.
Frustration with the entire situation. With her life!
Running from his house.
The club, Aftershock.
The bass player whose eyes seemed to see into her very soul.
And the magic of their erotic coupling.
Ohmigod!
I have to get out of here. Right now. I have to get home.
She wasn’t brave enough to face her joy ride in the light of day. At least not at that moment, not with her hands shaking and her heart racing a mile a minute. What on earth had she been thinking about?
That Emma was tired of being a good girl.
Well, guess what? She’s not a good girl anymore.
Thankful that the light hadn’t woken Marc, she slid carefully from the bed, got down on her knees, and felt around on the floor for her clothes. Silently pulling them on, she picked up her sandals and tiptoed out of the room toward the front of the house.
Purse. Where’s my purse?
Oh, yeah. Living room.
She had just unlocked the front door with a soft click, when she heard him behind her.
“Music Lady?” His voice was hoarse with the remnants of sleep.
She turned and nearly swallowed her tongue. He was standing not two feet away from her gloriously naked, his cock semi-erect, his hair in that sexy tangle. He pushed it back from his face and squinted at her.
“Where are you going?”
“I-I have to leave,” she stammered.
In seconds he was beside her, his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t go. Please. We didn’t even get a chance to talk.”
“Talk?” she squeaked. All she could remember was the intense physical and emotional connection. There hadn’t been any room for words.
“Please,” he repeated. “I want to get to know you.”
“I-I-I….” She shook her head. “I have to go. I’m sorry.” Panic, guilt, embarrassment all swirled in a volatile emotional cocktail. She had to leave, to get some perspective on the very impulsive act of hers. Get away before he could start asking questions she didn’t want to answer. She trembled with an anxiety attack.
What have I done?
His hands slid up to cup her cheeks. “I want to see you again.”
“I don’t know.” She chewed her bottom lip. She wanted to stay but the intensity of her emotions and the reality of what she’d done frightened her. How could she care about someone so quickly? Someone so completely opposite everything else in her life?
“Then will you at least come to the club? Next week? We play Tuesday through Saturday.”
“Maybe. I…maybe.”
“Here’s something to remember while you’re trying to decide.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, rubbing his lips against hers very softly before pressing his tongue against the seam. She opened for him without thought and welcomed his intrusion into the hot well of her mouth. She melted, excited by his touch. Her own small tongue slipped past his lips and danced with his while her body quivered, and the throbbing in her sex reminded her of how he made her feel.
His thumbs caressed her cheekbones while he fed from her, the kiss invading her senses. Gasping she broke away.
“I-I really, really have to go. Now.”
Yanking the door open, she raced down the three steps to her car, pressing the fob to unlock it, and leapt into it as if she were in a footrace with the devil. She backed quickly out into the street, but then she glanced toward the house and saw him standing in the doorway, unabashedly naked, haloed by the street lamp next to the house.